


To Dance with the Devil

by Darkargo



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: All of this takes place endgame, Be nice to me I have never written in second person, I fudged the rules and the Nightwings all got enlightened, Other, Please do not harass me about it, Second Person just like in game, This is very love/hate, but in a good way?, if you don't like it, it's also one-sided, reader is they/them, this is a gift
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:51:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11771061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkargo/pseuds/Darkargo
Summary: While you are famous for helping to bring down the Commonwealth, you are not invulnerable. To dance with Manley is to dance with the Devil, and you aren’t quite sure what you would gain from this relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Astrodile mentioning how they wanted a Reader/Manley fic, and I being in a creative rut, decided to write this...monstrosity. I love it to pieces. If you like reading Howl's Moving Castle, you'll like this.

You were not accustomed to fancy parties. Most of your life was spent on the streets and alleyways of the now disbanded Commonwealth. On occasion, you caught a glimpse of noble galas and such, spilling out fine houses and finer lawns. There were times you watched from the iron wrought fences, a silent observer. Your dirty fingers grasped the cold filigree of the fences as you watched the upper class laugh and flit among each other like pieces of shiny wrapping paper.

Sometimes you hungered for their comfort, their safety. You didn’t want their wealth so much as you wanted the warmth and security that came with it. You would have settled for a modest lifestyle, but the middle class did not flaunt their money like the wealthy did, and thus did not invite your unwanted observations. Some part of you knew that you could never have either lifestyle. Books, although illegal and rare, were more obtainable than a secure income of any kind. They could help you forget about your present state for a little while, allowing you to slip into worlds where you weren’t hungry or cold. It was a pity that your greatest sense of comfort was your ultimate downfall.

Strangely enough, your banishment to Downside eventually lead you to have lavish lifestyle. It was a plot twist you never foresaw coming, even after reading countless crime novels. What made the twist even more bizarre was that your fate was changed by a former adversary. You never expected to become the subject of Manley Tinderstauf’s affections, someone who you despised whole heartedly in Downside. But upon your return to the Commonwealth(or rather the Sahrian Union), you found yourself on the receiving end of many lavish gifts. Pamitha, who shared a humble little apartment with you, was thrilled to no end by this.

“You should give him a shot, Reader darling.” She would croon over a cup of tea. “If he is no good, then simply use him a source of free gifts and income.” The Harp smiled coquettishly, “That is what I would do.”

She is right, but would you really want to subjugate yourself to being invested in someone for monetary reasons? According to Pamitha, it wasn’t a horrible idea. So, with some reluctance, you agree an outing with Manley. How bad could it be?

It was…an interesting outing. You were invited to Manley’s return party, which was incredibly vibrant and gaudy like the garments of the Chasity.  Even with Pamitha’s preening, you felt staunchly out of place. You maneuvered through the throngs of people, somewhat regretting coming to this stupid party. You begin to think this was a ruse for Manley to show off his exuberant wealth. As you stop by the refreshments table to filch several small desserts, you feel a hand settle on the small of your back.

“My, my, my, so you did accept my invitation, dear Reader.”

You pause in your thieving and lift your head to see Manley smiling down at you.

“Isn’t this the most sumptuous party? Oh, I would have thrown it sooner, but a change in government always puts a damper on parties and the like.” He notices that you eye him warily, and he clears his throat.

“Come along, come along, let me show you the Tinderstauf gardens.” He prattles aimlessly about his return, which you more or less tune out. You are more invested in the goodies on your plate, and are content to nod along and munch away at delicacies you’ve never heard of.

The gardens are lovely, you will admit that.  There are clusters of party goers dispersed around the grounds. Several wave to Manley, which he happily returns along with a few comments.  

“So, dear Reader, did you like my gifts?”

You bob your head side to side. You thank him for the gifts, but you inquire his motives behind them. You state that his behavior in Downside did not go unnoticed or forgotten.

Manley laughs, “Oh Reader, you simply must understand that I wanted to be free of that wretched place! I was getting a little…frustrated that I could not leave.”

That’s understandable, you admit, but that doesn’t make you any eager to trust him.

“I was hoping we could meet on better terms here—a fresh start, if you may. After all,” He leans over, “I find you most exquisite and wish to be on better terms with you.”

His confession seems genuine, but you can’t be too sure with Manley. You know that if you enter any kind of engagement with him, he will seek to tear you down if it doesn’t go his way. While you are famous for helping to bring down the Commonwealth, you are not invulnerable. To dance with Manley is to dance with the Devil, and you aren’t quite sure what you would gain from this relationship.

You remember Pamitha’s words, about using Manley for his resources, but with his nature, it might be too risky to pursue him for the sake of martial gain.

You tell him that you will consider his offer, and Manley nods in response.

“Of course, dear Reader, of course. My actions were not very gentlesap like in Downside, but I assure you I am a different Sap here.” Again, you can’t be certain if he’s hiding something behind that smile. Manley is polite for the reminder of your time together. He gives a tour of the quieter parts of the garden, pointing out rare plants or stringed lights here and there. It would have been more pleasant, you think, if your tour guide wasn’t so horribly vain and childish.

After growing weary of rich foods and aimless talking, you bid farewell to Manley. It’s getting late, and Pamitha will most likely want to chat about the party. Despite the fact that Manley should have attended his other guests, he has rarely left your side for the majority of the evening. He escorts you out of his manor, and even gifts you with a small bag of sweets. How…thoughtful.

“Until we meet again, most divine Reader.” He purrs softly before taking your hand and kissing it tenderly. Manley leaves you on the front steps of his sprawling mansion to return to his party. You are left standing there, not quite sure what to make of all this. And frankly, the night has left you stunned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep picturing this taking place in Tours, France.

Upon returning home, Pamitha greets you. Before you can start retelling your tale, she spies the bag in your hand.

“Mm, it seems that your ‘hunt’ was victorious. Care to share your spoils with me?”

You both head to your little kitchen, where Pamitha pulls out her famous moonshine as you lay out your little confections. The act of sharing a small meal with Pamitha reminds you of your days in Downside. Some part of you misses the old creak and bump of the wagon, and the constant presence of the Nightwings.  Your group has dispersed throughout the world, happier with their freedom, but undoubtedly lonelier.

But Pamitha pulls you from your thoughts, hungry for answers as she is for the treats you returned with. You tell your tale, watching Pamitha’s eyes narrow with interest. You leave nothing out, and even go so far as to include details on the garden and theme of the party—which was something called Art Noveau. You know what interests Pamitha most is your interaction with Manley, judging by the fact that she leans in a little closer when you talk about him. When you mention Manley’s farewell to you, and the hand kiss, her dark eyes glitter with amusement.

“Reader darling, you must simply have another engagement with him. Perhaps, one that is a bit more _private_.”

You know she is referring to a date, and is merely waiting for you to say the word. Instead, you sip your moonshine, relishing that familiar bite in your throat. You add the fact that Manley is dangerous, despite his foppish demeanor. Pamitha laughs, bright and clear, at your statement.

“He is no more dangerous than a piece of fruit left on your counter.” She leans back in her chair. “If not treated properly, what does fruit do? It _rots_. Oh, it will smell and attract flies and whatever,  but you seem to forget how easily it is for you to toss the fruit _out_.” Her wings settle on her lap, “In the end, you won’t remember about that particular fruit that you tossed out. If anything, it’ll serve as a reminder when it comes to purchasing the fruit again. Why did you buy it if you knew you wouldn’t eat it? What were your reasons for not eating it? And so on and so forth.”

She is right, but you wonder if she’s not giving Manley enough credit. The last time they really socialized with Manley was in Downside, a place outside of his element. Now that he is in society, the world bends more to his favor than to yours.

You tell Pamitha what you told Manley, that you will consider it. She doesn’t press you anymore about it, knowing that you will shut down if she does.  You both head off to your respective quarters to sleep. Tonight, sleep eludes you as it did in Downside.  Your curious nature keeps you up, as you think and think again about Manley’s offer.   Maybe it is the moonshine talking, or maybe it’s your actual thoughts, but you think that dating Manley might not be such a bad idea. 

…It’s probably the moonshine talking.

Time goes by, days trickle on into weeks before you encounter Manley again. He comes in the form of a neat letter, which you are a little nervous to open. Pamitha is out with Jodariel, something about wine and cheese, so her counsel is unfortunately unavailable to you.

The letter feels heavy in your hands, you’re not imagining things. This is your first time holding such expensive paper. With the Commonwealth toppled, people are allowed to produce paper like they would wine. You briefly reflect on what it must be like to go into a paper store, before remembering that you have an unopened letter in your hands. You sit down on the steps, thinking it unwise to stand while reading a Tinderstauf letter.

The envelope is a muted gold, accented with your address in black, swirling letters. The back of the envelope is a familiar emblem –the sigil of the Chasity—sealing the letter shut. You wonder what he means by sending you a letter bearing this mark, and momentarily pause before carefully working around the seal. You may not be a fan of the colors, but it is a nice emblem none the less.

The letter is made out of a thick paper that feels odd under your fingers.  It’s not a long letter, which piques your interest more. Written in the same hand as the address on the envelope, the letter expresses Manley’s profound interest in seeing you again, but perhaps in a more private setting. He is curious if you could meet up with him today in the afternoon, for there is a lovely little café he wants to show you. He signs off with _yours affectionately_ , reminding you of the kiss he gave you.

You sit on the stairs, dumbfounded. You are not used to such advances, and feel a little odd for being the subject of them. A thousand thoughts clash in your head, and against better judgement, you decide to go out. After all, your last evening with Manley provided to be relatively uneventful, and you believe this one will be no different.

You leave a tiny note on Pamitha’s door, as well as Manley’s invitation, in case the outing with Manley should go south.  It never hurts to be prepared.

You arrive sometime before noon at Manley’s estate. You let your fingers glide across the cool iron of the gate as you wait for someone to let you in. You are surprised to see that the manor is not horribly ostentatious. It’s old, stooping slightly with age like a refined, old grandmother.  It reminds you a bit of those houses in those detail swollen romance novels you read a few times.

Someone does come out to the gate, and instead of opening it, they shoo you away.

“Go on, you lot.” The dappled Cur growls at you. “No loitering.”

You explain to her that you’ve come to see Manley, but this only causes  the Cur to pull her lips back.

“That is what everybody says! You all think you can just drop his name and be let in!” Her spotted muzzle quivers with rage.

You try again to tell her that Manley has personally invited you, and this only seems to amuse the Cur. She tosses her black and white head back, howling with laughter.

“Ah HA HA! Now that is good humor!” Her white and pink smile returns, “So then, where is your proof?”

That is when you realize you should have brought the letter with you. Your ears feel hot with embarrassment. There is no way to convince the Cur that Manley sent you an invite without the letter. You feel foolish and a tad bitter.

“That’s what I thought.” The Cur says tartly. “Now, run along.”

Some part of you hopes that someone will come out and correct the Cur, but you remember that this is reality and not a sappy romance novel. Your hands squeeze on the gates before you pull away.

You shamble home and plan on lying in bed for the rest of the day. Before you can fumble out your key, you spot someone standing at your doorstep. You stop in your tracks. Manley is ardently knocking on your door, looking rather…hopeful. Instead of immediately engaging him, you watch.

His expressions are very clear from your spot. His hopefulness bleeds into anger, which in turn, fades into sadness. Now you feel bad for watching when you could have gone over and greeted him. He looks truly mournful that no one answered the door.  If you say nothing and hide in the nearby alley, he won’t even know you were here. This whole thing could end like a dream, and you would never have to deal with him again.

But he did look genuinely upset that no one came to the door—and you did want to go on that outing.

You call out his name. Manley perks up upon hearing your voice.

“Ah, most lovely Reader!” He grins as you approach him. “I was worried I would not be able to reach you in time.”

You stuff your hands in your pockets, stating that you’ve just returned from his estate. Your face is flushed from your experience with the Cur, and retelling it only makes Manley laugh.

“My dear, dear _Reader_ ,” He says in a soothing tone. “Old Bridgett meant no harm by it, I assure you.” Manley goes off on a long explanation of the guard Cur’s behavior that you more or less tune out.

“…So then, Reader,” Manley grins slyly. “Are you still interested in an outing with me?”

Are you really interested in going out with him, or are you just foolishly curious? It’s mix of both, and probably one more than the other, but he doesn’t need to know that. You avert your gaze and accept his offer.

Manley laughs and offers you his arm. “Shall we?”

You hesitate, before looping your arm with his. This…this is what the upperclass does, right? You aren’t sure—you haven’t been on a date before. Manley doesn’t say anything, other than chuckling warmly at your slight confusion.

“Yes, yes, come along, my dearest Reader.”

You start to think that this is a bad idea, seeing that his strides are much longer than yours, so you’re stumbling stupidly beside him.

Manley tuts, “This won’t do at all! I’ll take shorter strides, mm? You let me know if I’m walking too fast—it is a horrible habit of mine, Reader dear, please forgive me.”

You grumble a little as the two of you attempt to match the other’s pace. It evens out eventually, but it is rather annoying for the first ten minutes.

Once you’re done fretting over being able to walk together, it occurs to you it might be a bad idea to be seen with Manley in public. After all, you are associated with Sandalwood, who would not take too kindly having Manley anyway where near him. Would that damage Sandalwood’s career as Prime Minister? You’re not sure—you don’t really know much about how this new government works.

“You’re awfully quiet, Reader.” Manley nabs you from your thoughts. “A lot on your mind, or are you just that breathless from being near me?”

You sputter with laughter and tell him that you partial to dazing off. It happens all the time, you tell him, and you apologize ahead of time if you accidentally drift out of conversation. It’s your bad habit to Manley’s tendency of walking too fast.

You can tell by looking at him that he’s delighted. “You have a remarkable laugh, Reader.”

His words bring heat to your face and you pointedly look away, eliciting giggles from Manley.

“Oh, now _Reader_ ,” He says teasingly, “You’ve revealed to me your weakness for compliments, which means I have no choice but to shower you in them.”

You have decided in this moment that you utterly hate and loathe Manley Tinderstauf for making you blush. He repeatedly pushes your buttons by giving you more _praise_ , and since you are in a public place, you can’t just…do something. You do not like making a scene. It doesn’t matter that his words are kind and playful, you just—you just don’t know how to cope with flirting.

His teasing does cease and gives way to aimless chatter. You relax slightly, but suddenly realize that you are squeezing his arm rather tightly. No doubt Manley has surely noticed this, yet he doesn’t acknowledge your grip. You casually loosen your hold on his arm, acting as if you weren’t aware of it in the first place. He probably notices that, too.

Manley guides you through the crowded streets. Noontime is one of the more busier times of day—something you only really noted when you lived in Commonwealth. Your old habits stir as your gaze flicks between the different street vendors. You wonder which one will be the easiest to snag scraps from.

Then Manley tugs you away from the main street, taking you down one of the less crowded pathways that weave through houses and shops. Soon cacophony of the noonday rush fades behind you, and recall how Manley took you away from his party to show you quieter parts of his estate.

“I found this little place by sheer accident, can you imagine? A gem of a café overlooked by so many,” He trails off before gently adding, “ I suppose you can relate to that, mm?”

Your face flushes again. You remain silent as you both walk up to a cramped, corner café. Manley slips his arm from yours, only so he can pull out a chair at an outside table for you.

“It gets a little too cozy for me inside,” He says as you sit down. “And a tad too warm for my liking. I do suggest you go in sometime just to look around. It is marvelous…” Manley begins going on and on about the café’s interior style, and thankfully a waiter interrupts him before he gets too carried away.

“…Reader, what would you like?” Manley casts a smile in your direction, and freeze like you’ve been caught red handed. You look between him and the waiter, your fingers digging into your knees.

“How rude of me! I forgot you haven’t been here before.” His tone sharpens, but you feel that it is directed more at himself than at you. “My good waiter, bring us some tea while they decide.”

As the waiter ambles off, Manley leans over the table, his willowy fingers pointing at the menu. “I personally prefer their little tiered courses, for they come with a variety of delightful finger foods, and the presentation is most beautiful.”  He grins, “Whatever you want, Reader, I’ll get it for you.”

Your hands knead the soft cloth of the napkin on your lap. You tell Manley that you feel overwhelmed by…everything. At this, Manley retreats back to his seat, his eyes wide with shock. For a moment you worry that he will fire insults at you like he did in Downside, but instead he laughs loudly.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Reader dear? Have I been overbearing—oh no need to answer, I know I can be a little much.” He cradles his jaw in his palm, giving you a rather soft expression. “I hope you can forgive me, Reader, but I am totally, and foolishly, enraptured by you.”

Again, he has left you speechless. The waiter cruises by, gingerly placing large pot of hot water on the table, before turning to you with a box of teas. It all feels like a weird dream. You select a tea that you are vaguely familiar with, holding it in your hands as Manley makes a selection from the box. You vaguely hear the waiter asking again if you’ve made your decision, but Manley politely waves him off.

You look up at Manley, the tea packet still clutched in your hands when you say, “What do you want from me?”

He hums to himself, musing over your question as he plucks the teabag from its packet. Only after he has placed the bag into the cup, chasing it with scalding water, does he answer,

“I want your affections. I have long been infatuated with you, Reader.”  He reaches over to take a few sugar cubes. “There are many things in this world that I want, but none more so than the company of another.”

You tell him that he is bold for laying this at your feet. Manley meets your gaze and smiles—the same smile he gave before trying to beat you in the rites.

“My dear Reader,” His voice a low croon. “Fortune _favors_ the bold.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes hi my name is Argo and I ship a human and a tree. 
> 
> Can I go home now, my family is very disappointed with me.

You find yourself in unfamiliar territory. This has been happening to you quite often as of late, no a doubt an effect of Manley’s presence. No one has ever been so bold to you before, especially in regards to the affairs of the heart. For so long you believed yourself to be undesirable. Love was for other people. Flirtations and trysts were things you either observed from afar or gleaned from sheaves of paper. It was not for you, it was never for you.

And yet, here you are, on the other side of a romantic exchange.

You thumb the packet in your hands—you probably should make it into tea.  You haven’t even decided what to order, and Manley Tinderstauf has confessed his attraction to you. This…this is going too fast. Unable to respond, you look at the menu. The words look foreign—oh, it’s upside down. …You really are nervous if you picked up the menu wrong, or maybe careless, or maybe both.

“Is something the matter, Reader?”  You lower your menu to see Manley coolly reclining in his chair, idly dunking the teabag in the cup. You hate that he can look so sophisticated without trying.

You go back to looking at the menu, and are confused at why a single pastry is worth a good bit of sols. Food should not be this expensive, even if it’s good food. When the waiter comes by, you reluctantly order a mixed set of finger foods—which coincidentally is the same thing Manley orders. Your stomach curdles and you finally make your tea.

You know it’s a black tea only because it says so on the packet. It has one of those stupid artsy names, _Moonriver Black Tea_. What the hell is _Moonriver Black Tea_? Is it a citrusy black tea? …Doesn’t smell like it. By the scribes, why are rich people so weird and drink nonsense like _Moonriver Black Tea_. You’re half tempted not to drink it so you aren’t supporting the industry, except that would be rude and impractical. You make your cup of tea. As you take a sip, your eyes flick up over the rim, meeting Manley’s gaze. He smiles impishly at you and barely, just barely, sticks the tip of his tongue out.

You end up scalding your mouth. You’re not sure what he did, but it does remind you of how Pamitha flirts with Jodi. You feel yourself flush down to your chest. You feel hot, maybe the tea wasn’t such a good idea.

“Reader? Are you…feeling alright?” Manley sounds concerned, he _looks_ concerned, but is he truly concerned? You don’t know. You don’t know anything, other than the fact that you are attracted to Manley and you don’t know how you feel about that.

“Fine…I’m fine.” You rub your face in your hands. “Just great.” You feel dizzy, and suddenly you feel something cool press against your cheek. You quickly realize that Manley is reaching over to touch you.

“Mm, you do feel a bit warm.” His voice is low, thoughtful, and his touch is like sparks. You stare at him, wide-eyed, as he presses his hand against your brow.  Something topples inside of you. You like him touching you, and the realization crashes into you like a star falling from the heavens.

You jerk away from his touch, abruptly rising to your feet. “I…I should go.”

“Reader, wait—“

“I’m sorry.” You don’t quite hear your voice. Maybe you didn’t say it all.

His chair groans against the pavement as he stands up. “Don’t—“

But you’re running, you don’t hear what he says. You sprint down the path you came, and sharply turn down a random side street. You don’t have much time. You wait until you’re sure no one is around before you scale up a drain pipe on the side of a house. You clamor onto the low roof, your feet clicking against the shingles. Your blood is pumping, the all too familiar sensation of running from _something_ comes rushing back to you. You pull yourself onto another roof, gasping. You tuck yourself onto a vacant balcony and hide.

This was how you evaded the police in the past and was successful the majority of the time. Only once did this method fail you, for you fell from the roof and into their clutches. That was how your descent to Downside began. You never thought you would use this again.

You close your eyes. Your body trembles from the rush—a part of you urges to go further, climb higher, but you can’t. You feel raw.

“Reader!”

You tense, pulling your knees closer to your chest. Briefly, you catch Manley jogging down the side-street you came from.

“Reader, I am sorry!” He shouts. “Whatever I did to offend you, I am truly sorry!”

You lean against the wall and wait for him to pass. It feels like hours when his voice fades into the hum of the city. You cry into your bleeding hands. You remain on the balcony until the sun glazes the sky orange. You would have remained for a bit longer, except light from the balcony door flashes on, and you have no choice but to leave.

Pamitha is worried when you arrive home. She embraces you with her wings and you sob into her shoulder. You are unaware that Jodariel’s large shadow fall over you and Pamitha. She watches from the kitchen, her blue eyes narrowed.

“What happened?” Her coarse voice cuts through the silence.

“Not now, Jodi.” Pamitha hisses while you sniffle into her shoulder. She rubs your back, humming softly. “How about I draw you a bath, hm? You love baths, darling. Jodi, be a good mom and hold them.”

You are passed from one warm embrace to the next, though Jodariel actually cradles you like an infant.  You feel her keen gaze on you. You know she’s worried, she’s always worried, but the intensity of her gaze makes it worse. It feels like you did something wrong, when in your heart you know you didn’t.

Jodariel sings to you softly, one of Tariq’s songs. She sways gently and thumbs away your tears. Jodi does notice your scraped hands, and you can feel her stiffen. You wait for the barrage of motherly questions, but she remains silent.

Pamitha fetches you once the tub is filled, and you insist on being alone. The water is hot on your skin, just like the tea that burned your mouth. Your hands sting as you submerse them in the steaming water.  As you pick the grit from your hands, you hear a loud knock on the door. Pamitha briefly argues Jodariel—and wins—and gets the door.

You are trying to make out Pamitha speaking, when Jodi shouts loudly, “Who is it?”

“Someone asking for directions!” Pamitha retorts loudly. “Mind your business, dearest!”

But you know from Pamitha’s voice that it isn’t just some lost somebody. It’s Manley. You pull yourself underwater as if to conceal yourself, even though you know Pamitha won’t let you in. By the time you come up for air, Jodi and Pamitha are having a rather animated discussion. You’re worried that they’re arguing, but it turns out they are bickering over what wine went best with what cheese. It’s kind of cute.

Jodariel eventually leaves the apartment to go home, and the moment she does, Pamitha peeks into your bathroom.

“I come in…cheese.” She holds out several slivers of cheese on a plate. You invite her in and she perches the plate on the edge of the tub. Pamitha sits beside the bathtub and pops open a bottle of wine. “So, tell me what happened.” She props her feet up on the toilet.

“…I don’t know, it’s a long story.”

Pamitha holds up the bottle, “Well, we got all night.” 

Between nibbles of cheese, you tell her everything. Pamitha says nothing, her face unreadable. When you are at last done retelling your tale, you rub your hot, tired eyes. You really don’t like crying.

“You know that was him at the door, don’t you.”

You nod and slide your shoulders under the water.

Pamitha sips from the bottle, “He was worried about you—I told him you got home safely.”

“Do you think he actually cares, or is this just a game he’s playing?”

You watch her tense up slightly. _Liars abound_ —was that not what she said when you first met her? You wonder how much of it applies to Manley. If it is a game, you think to yourself, you want it to end soon. You do not want to be lied to about being desirable.

You sleep in Pamitha’s room, her presence makes you feel better. But you do not sleep well that night. You think about Manley’s words and touch, and try not to get your hopes up. It’s only a game, you tell yourself, it’s only a game. Yet you don’t want it to be a game. You want it to be real.

 

Word gets around, thanks to Jodi, that you aren’t in the brightest of spirits. One by one, your old crew comes by to check on you.  One day it’s Rukey padding after you around the house, the next day it’s you and Fae baking. They know you’re hurting.

You do get a letter from Manley a day or so later. It appears among your other mail, unaddressed. You shakily hold it in your hand. To your surprise, the letter you get isn’t long. There is just a simple, _“I’m sorry.”_

This doesn’t feel like a game anymore. You don’t know what it is, and you find yourself conflicted once more. You wished you hadn’t gone on that outing with him, then you wouldn’t have heard him say all those nice things to you, or have him touch your cheek. Your faces burns at the thought and you hide the letter.

As you go back through sifting through Pamitha and yours collective mail, you hear a knock at the door. Worried that it might be Manley, you peek out the window to see that it’s Volfred. If Jodariel is like your foster mother, than Volfred is most certainly your foster father. You get the door for him, and you are greeted by both him and Ti’zo.

The imp launches himself into your hair, ruffling it excitedly.

“Reader,” Volfred says cordially. “Thought you might want some company.” He smells of tobacco and tea—a strong tea, he must be working late again.

“Aye, I could.” You let him in as Ti’zo slides down to your shoulder and nuzzles your cheek.  “You want something to drink?” You already know Ti’zo’s answer, which is yes, so you are more or less asking for Volfred’s sake.

“Coffee would be nice.”

Ti’zo purrs at you as you mount the stairs. You sense he wants that honey drink you purchase from next door. As you bustle around the kitchen, with Ti’zo still on your shoulder, Volfred leans against the counter. You envy him slightly, seeing how he looks like he could belong right here in this kitchen more so than you ever could. You wish you were as confident in yourself as he is.

“Jodariel says you had a rough night,” His voice a low timbre. “Care to enlighten me on what happened?”

Sandalwood is the last person you want knowing about your time with Manley.  You tell him you’d rather not talk about it. His cool green gaze studies you for a moment before he looks out the kitchen window.

“Is this about Manley?”

You nearly drop the pot of coffee in your hands. You whirl around to look at him, your body instinctively tensing to run. Volfred’s face is surprisingly neutral as he holds your stare for a few seconds.

“I saw him loiter around your door before I came in.” He sidles up to you, gently taking the pot from your rigid hands. “Has he been harassing you? Reader, I need you to be honest with me.”

Ti’zo makes a series of low chirps at you, sensing that your situation is a little complicated.

You tug on your fingers, “He wasn’t bothering me, Volfred.” You admit quietly. “…He was—we had an outing the other day.”

“Did you now?” He takes a few sips of his coffee, his face wrinkling briefly before adding a few touches of sugar.  “And how did it go.”

“I…uh…ran away.”

He samples his coffee again, this time he is satisfied with the taste. “I suppose there are worse ways for a date to go.”  You find it odd that he seems so nonplussed by this, despite the fact that you know he doesn’t trust Manley.

He must have read your thoughts, because he speaks up, “Reader, I can’t stop you from doing what you want.”Volfred cradles the cup in his hand. “You remember how I tried to persuade you to give up your position on the blackwagon, and we saw how well that worked.”

You remain silent as you pour Ti’zo’s drink into a small dish. “…I don’t know what to do, I feel…conflicted.”

“That’s not surprising, romances can be like that.” He studies you again. “ I personally believe getting yourself invested with Manley is a horrible idea, but I have been wrong before. Then again, you can’t choose who you love.”

You laugh nervously, “I wouldn’t say that this is love.”

“No, but it feels like the beginning of it.”

You stiffen at his words and pointedly look out the window. You know he’s right, Volfred is almost always right about…everything.  

“Reader, the faster you either accept or deny it, the quicker you will overcome this. There is no point in running away with it.”

“I know, I know.” You mutter.

“That being said, I want you to have my invitation for the Tinderstauf summer solstice party.”  Volfred regards your shocked expression from over the rim of his cup. “You can take Pamitha along, I’m sure she’ll enjoy it.”

He’s doing this because he wants you to figure out your feelings. He is right about the problems that come from being conflicted and indecisive. The longer you argue with yourself, the more miserable you will be. The idea of going makes you nervous, but you know you should take it like medicine and get over it. It probably won’t be as bad if you bring Pamitha along.

Ti’zo screeches at you, insisting that he’ll come along as your lead imp for your wagon. It all seems decided for you, so you begrudgingly accept Volfred’s plan. You note there is a glint of amusement in Volfred’s eyes.

“I hear the Tinderstauf parties are legendary, and I have a good feeling that you will enjoy it.”

You hope so, or you’re never going to socialize ever again.

 

A week later, you find yourself standing outside the gates of the Tinderstauf estate, except this time you have an invitation. You and Pamitha stand out among the throngs of people waiting to be let into the party, for you two are the only ones in enlightened raiments. The people around you speak in quiet whispers. Without your raiments on, the public doesn’t know who you are, which is blessing because this means you can buy bread without being mobbed.  But now that you wear them, people know you and Pamitha were a part of the Nightwings. The golden star on your cloak marks you as the reader who assisted Volfred in his Plan, thus making you one of the more famous members of the group.

You faintly hear someone remark about the faint glow around yours and Pamitha’s heads, but you don’t notice anything. You think maybe they’re referring to that golden eyeshadow Pamitha made you wear, but they keep saying the light is like a halo. You really wish people should stop pre-gaming before parties.

Now you’re feeling self-conscious. You feel their eyes pick over your face, undoubtedly lingering on the massive scar that runs across your nose and cheek bones. It’s a jagged, ugly thing, and it is a grim reminder of your tragic fall. You don’t remember it unless people are obviously looking you over.

Pamitha protectively stands by you. If anyone tries to talk to you, she immediately starts chatting at you. She knows you’re nervous and is trying to help keep you calm. As always, she is successful.

You are let in without much of a fuss, despite the fact that your invitation does not have your name on it. You had even brought a little note from Volfred, but it isn’t necessary. Once you both are in, you almost peel away from the crowds to find a little peace and quiet, but Pamitha tugs your hood.

“And where are you going? They have to introduce you to the party.”

They…what? Really? Do people still do this kind of nonsense? You thought that’s what happened in those books with the old settings. Then again, this was a Tinderstauf party, everything needed to be dramatic.

Being introduced to the party goers is as ridiculous as you read it to be. You and Pamitha stand atop of one of those long, wide staircases, and stare out at the sea of people. You hate this. You just want to melt into the party and be ignored, granted you can’t do that anyway because of your raiments, but you would be considerably more covert if you didn’t have to do this.

“Hold your head high when we descend.” Pamitha whispers. “And don’t be afraid to grab onto the railing for support—actually, why don’t you just hold onto it anyway. You’ll look more regal.”

You don’t know how that will possibly make you feel dignified, seeing that everyone here is in the latest fashions, making you look comparatively like a napkin.

Eventually your names are called out, except they don’t really register as words to you. It’s probably because you feel hundreds of eyes burn into you and goddamn room won’t stop spinning. Your knuckles go pale as you clutch the railing, the cool marble digging into your palm. You could hear a pin drop as you take each step down. You do manage to hold your head high, just enough that Pamitha is grinning.

The last time there were this many people watching you was when you fell to your demise. No wonder you feel so nervous. You almost throw up when you reach the foot of the stairs. The only thing you are aware of is Pamitha’s wing touching your shoulder, and that alone keeps you from fainting.

“You did this…” You say hoarsely to Pamitha. “Because you know that will draw attention to me.”

“Isn’t that why we came here?” She retorts in a hushed tone. “Remember, we came here so you can find out whether Manley is boyfriend material or not.”

You glare at her, and she beams back. Pamitha quickly steers you away from the pressing crowd, tactfully pulling you into some quieter part of the party. “The plan,” She turns to you. “Is to find Manley. We are going to split up and look.”

“Why do you seem more excited about this than me?”

She giggles indulgently. “Because I love large parties, and you can’t stand being the center of attention any longer than two seconds.”

“If you leave me alone, I’m just going to end up by the food and eat.” You threaten, but this makes her laugh more.

“Darling reader, if you do that, you will be mobbed by other party goers, who will want to speak with you!”  Now you realize why she made you do the introduction. You will have to keep moving to avoid speaking with people you don’t know.  Sometimes you forget how crafty Pamitha is.

Pamitha whisks away back to the party before you argue with her. You are left alone, cursing yourself for doing this. You spend a few moments steeling your nerves, and then follow in suit.

This party makes the party thrown for Manley’s return seem casual when it clearly wasn’t. You keep holding your head high, like how Jodi would when she was engaged in a rite. You wish you could be as stoic and cool as her. 

People now call out to you, and you being incredibly nervous, give a simple nod in their direction. That’s something you recall Manley doing at his homecoming party. Some people press you to talk with them, but you quickly insist that you’re looking for someone, before trotting off to avoid answering them. Large crowds don’t bother you, unless the majority of said crowd wants to speak with you.

You pass by Pamitha briefly, and she winks at you as she brushes past. She hasn’t found him yet, either. You’re starting to wonder if Manley is even at this party when you spot him.

He is leaning against a dormant fireplace—which you think is a little ironic, but you’re not here for jokes—and somehow looks more refined than usual. What is it with Saps looking beautiful all the time? There are a few people clustered around him, though he seems to only be talking to one person. No one else seems to mind, except for one rather runty human, who is irked that their companion is being chatted at. You watch them deliberately steal things from their larger companion’s plate, taking great vigor in eating their pilfered goods. Relatable. 

Manley doesn’t seem to notice you, but the grumpy thief does. They make eye contact with you, and starts violently tugging on their friend’s sleeve. Their companion makes a rather dramatic ‘ _what now’_ that you’ve seen Jodariel do countless times before they see you. By the time you have their attention, you have Manley’s as well.

Your throat tightens as he holds your gaze. He’s not smiling—you know he is in utter disbelief that you’re here.

_That makes two of us._

You start trembling as you take a step back. You got to get out of here—this is a horrible idea—but you can’t run, not unless you wish to embarrass yourself in front of so many people.

Manley has already excused himself from his group and advances toward you. By the time he reaches you, you’re shaking violently. His expression is gentle as he touches your shoulder.

“Let us discuss this in a more private place.”

You nod, feeling his wispy fingers press against the small of your back. He leads you away from the swirling crowd, taking you to a vacant balcony. You briefly surmise you would survive the fall if you jumped, but Pamitha would scold you profusely if you did, so you decide against jumping.

You lean over the railing as Manley tenderly rubs your back. You remember the sparks from his touch and shiver slightly.

“Reader,” He says softly. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yes, yes I’m fine.”  You don’t know if wanting to vomit constitutes as feeling fine, but he doesn’t need to know that. The air outside is hot and stagnant and you suddenly appreciate not be covered in yards of heavy fabric. You catch Manley gazing at you with an expression you haven’t seen before.

“You look lovely tonight, Reader.”

Your skin feels hot as you knead the railing. “I’m—I’m sorry for running.” The words stumble out of you.  “I-I don’t know even why I did it.” That is a lie—you know you ran because you couldn’t cope with your clashing emotions.  “I couldn’t—I just had to…”

“I understand, Reader.” His knuckles graze against your cheek, and you find yourself leaning into his touch.

To your surprise, his hand quivers in response and his breath catches, “R-reader.”

You don’t know why you’re letting your walls down for him. It is risky, and yet it feels right. You are being foolish and you know it. But you can’t help it, you can’t deny that this is something that you very much want.

His palm cradles your jaw, “Do…do not toy with me, Reader. I have no means to defend against this.”

“I don’t either.” You gaze at him from under hooded eyes. You curl your fingers around his wrist as he lifts his other hand to your face.

You feel his breath on your lips. “You deserve better,” Manley murmurs, his mouth molding against yours.

The kiss is tender, though his lips are a tad rough. He holds you close as you allow him to deepen the kiss. As per usual, your thoughts are fighting one another while you tremble violently under his touch. The quarrel in your mind is abruptly interrupted when Manley’s tongue caresses a rather sensitive spot in your mouth. You instinctively arch into him and a small whine peels out of you. This startles you both, and Manley instantly breaks away from you.

His eyes are wide as you try to regain what little composure you have. “Did…did I hurt you? Reader, you should have stopped me if I was—“

“Manley, I’m fine. Really I am.” You’re breathless. You brace your hands against the railing as you lean back. “That…that was…”

“…Yes.” Manley says after a few moments, his mind clearly elsewhere.

You look over at Manley to see that he is equally taken aback by the kiss. He stares beguiled back at the party, which has clearly not noticed yours or Manley’s absence.  He takes a tad longer than you to recover, and quickly smooths and tugs his garments back into place.

He eventually turns to you, and it finally dawns on you what you’ve done. Manley offers his arm to you, “I believe there will be music soon, would you care to dance with me?”

But you know in his words that he is asking so much more than a dance.  You hold his gaze before taking his arm.

“I would like that.”

And thus begins your long and bizarre dance with the Devil himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I told my progenitor that this fic has somewhat of a cult following, and you know what she said. 
> 
> "That's great, Argo."
> 
> No, no it's not. How am I supposed to explain this to you when you didn't understand what my sand clan headband in middle school meant. 
> 
> Oh, and I got a job.

“…Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

You are still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes when Pamitha saunters into the kitchen. She looks equally disheveled, her bright hair looking like Ti’zo’s nest.

“Morning.” You murmur over your coffee as Pamitha eyes the vase of flowers on the table. She doesn’t ask to know who they are from.

“I take it that it went well.” She hums, one of her claws stroking the dark roses. “These are very expensive, you know.”

You make a face at her in response, and she merely nods it off. Sleep makes her forget about how you feel about money and expensive things.

“Did you figure out what you wanted?”

You nod tiredly. You must give off the impression of irritability, because Pamitha does not ask you questions about your night. Truth be told, it is very much a blur to you. You do know that there was a lot of dancing and laughing. Manley gave you a tour at some point, oh and you’re both dating now.

You’re still shocked by it. Pensively, you take a sip of coffee while Pamitha side eyes you with a smirk.

“Mm, it went well.” She echoes your thoughts. “Though I’m not at all surprised—I knew he was utterly in love with you.”

You nearly sputter out your coffee. It’s not love yet, not for you, at least. But there is something there, and you can’t deny that.

“So when are you going to see him again?”

“Pamitha, my mind and personality are still waking up.” You rub your temple. “Can you wait like, maybe half an hour, and then I’ll get back you.”

She hums airily and turns her back to you as she makes her coffee. You leave the kitchen to go sit on your tiny balcony. Both you and Pamitha are early risers by habit, and despite the fact you two were out until the wee hours of the morning, you both still wake up at the crack of dawn. You sit with your little cup of coffee as the sun begins to dye the sky pink.

You found the flowers on your doorstep this morning as you went to check the mail. You only got a note from Manley, expressing his thanks and delight for you coming, as well as mentioning to you there was a gift on your doorstep. You had never seen roses so full before, or in this particular shade of dark red. You remind yourself you need to send him a thank you letter.

You feel warm, from both the coffee and the recollection of last night. You touch your lips upon remembrance of the kiss and your heart flutters in your chest. You’re mad at how cliché this feels.

Being alone does allow you to muse over Pamitha’s question. You know you will see Manley again, although at what time and where you aren’t sure. You cut yourself some slack, seeing that you left the party a handful of hours ago to come home. Your head is still spinning from the excursion, maybe you’ll think more about this in a few days.

 

* * *

 

You spend a good bit of time debating before deciding a good date idea. It’s almost week after the party when you show up at Manley’s estate. You stand outside the elaborate fence, hoping someone, other than that old Cur, would come along. Someone does come, and it is unfortunately old Bridgett. She trots to the other side of the gate, her white tail held high like a banner.

“Young Master Tinderstauf is home, you wish to see him?” She speaks to you in her old, biting tone. “—Talks a lot about you, that one, suppose my apologies are due.” Bridgett unlocks the gate and lets you in. 

“I am sorry,” She gazes at you with her warm brown eyes. “Even if it is your fault to begin with.” There is mirth in her creaking voice. “Now come along, let’s go fetch the Young Master.”

You are not fond of the interior of the estate. The past few times you had visited were at night, but you weren’t focused on your environment then. But now that you are waiting in the parlor, waiting for Manley, you notice how empty the estate feels. It is filled with paintings, fine furniture, and whatnot, but it doesn’t feel…welcoming. It doesn’t feel lived in like your apartment, and you begin to wonder how Manley can stand being here.

“Ah, Reader! What a surprise!” This is the first time you have seen Manley with bed head, and you admit that it is a good look for him. He comes striding into the parlor and scoops you up into his arms.

“My darling Reader come to see me? Oh, to what do I owe this pleasure?” He pecks your cheeks affectionately as if he hasn’t seen you in years. “This is a most joyous day, my love.” His words hush, leaning his head against yours. “What do you need?”

You settle against him, relishing the sensation of his touch. It takes a few moments for you to process his words and you answer, “I wanted to take you on a date.”

He laughs quietly, this time planting a kiss on your neck. “You _spoil_ me, Reader~” Manley holds you close for a few moments longer, something that you would notice more in the future. “Where are we going today?”

You loop your arms around his neck, further molding yourself against his frame. “Thought I could show you some of my favorite places, “You quickly add. “And I’m buying.”

“ _Oh, Reader_ ,” He kisses your neck again, leaving you a little breathless. “ You are simply too good for me.” Manley sets you back down. “…I’ll go throw something presentable on, I won’t be long.” He holds both your hands as he promises this ardently.  You feel his thoughts reach out to yours, and you let them in.

<…Please don’t let this be a dream.> You see this flicker briefly in his eyes, a fleeting sadness that makes you question how truly happy Manley is. He dashes out the parlor, insistently telling you not to go anywhere. Once he is gone, old Bridgett sidles up to you.

“That boy is lonely.” She says. “And please don’t ask me to chaperone, I hate watching couples moon over each other.”

Manley comes back a few minutes later, much to Bridgett’s surprise. “ _You_? Leaving the house without spending hours grooming yourself?” She cackles delightfully. “Aye, Reader, this is a first!”

“Oh hush, old lady.” He runs his fingers through his slightly disheveled hair. Manley’s clothes are notably plainer, though they probably are more expensive than anything you own.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bridgett trots off, presumably to open the gate. Before Manley has the chance, you offer your arm to him, and he smiles.

“Ah, you know how to treat a Sap right.” He takes your arm. “Lead the way, my dearest Reader.”

Bridgett waits outside for you both, her tail wagging upon seeing your arms interlocked. “Mm, have fun, you lot.”

“Try to keep the peace while I’m gone, old lady.” Manley chuckles. “And do try to convince father that redoing the fire place in the kitchen is a horrible idea.”

She snorted, “As if that old _stump_ will listen.”

Once you are past the gates, Manley explains to you in great detail his father’s terrible renovation ideas. You’re surprised to see how animated he is about the subject, though you learn that is a common occurrence in the Tinderstauf estate.

“I am terribly sorry, my love, that you had to hear all of that, but it has been such a burden on my shoulders.” He pinches the bridge of his long nose. “Father has the most appalling tastes in interior design—he ruined our summer home on the coast, and now I can’t stand going there.”

He starts rambling off about how certain types of marble are not compatible with the color green, and he loses you entirely on the topic. You don’t really offer anything, other than your sympathies.   Manley thanks you profusely for listening, and seems much happier.

“So, where are you taking me?” He inquires as you lead him down the twisting streets.

“There is a bridge I want to take you to, but I wanted to nab us some food first.” It was still relatively early, so it wouldn’t be too hot or crowded.

You pick out a familiar vendor, and while you know what you want, Manley doesn’t. He stands beside you, pensively gazing at the small selection.

“Oh, confound it, Reader. Pick something for me, I trust your judgement.” You giggle as he tosses his hands up in frustration. You order him and yourself some coffee and a bag of mixed bread goods. Manley insists that you get first pick, but you remind him that this is your treat. He seems a little flustered when you remind him.

Manley takes a sip of his coffee and his face instantly curdles. “Reader, I think there is something wrong with this drink.”

You pluck the drink from his hand, much to his surprise, and taste it. “…Tastes fine to me.” You hand him back his coffee. “Too bitter?”

Manley nods, “That’s my fault, I forget to mention that I like sugar in mine.” He lifts his chin up haughtily. “It’s only drinkable if I have _half_ a cup of sugar in it.” He flashes a devilish grin at you, and you snicker at his joke.

You pass a few bridges before you get to your favorite one. There’s nothing really special about the bridge, but it’s usually not as crowded as the others. The sky is a pastel palette of purples and blues. You actually can’t quite see the water, due to the shroud of early morning fog.

“It’s lovely.” You hear Manley say softly. The two of you pick a spot to stand before digging through your bag of goodies. Manley chooses an apple turnover, and briefly admires the little design imprinted on the crust.

You lean against him as you drink your coffee, and his arm eventually slips around your waist. The two of you spend some time in silence together. Manley seems to relax against you, making contented sighs and such.

 _“That boy is lonely.”_ You hear old Bridgett’s words. You find it odd that she said that. You wouldn’t think he’s lonely, knowing that he has all the friends and parties in the world, but then you’re reminded of that big empty estate. All for show, with no substance beneath.

There is no doubt in your mind that Manley is shallow, but you sense he wants more than surface level satisfaction. More importantly, he wants that from you. You’re not sure what that will entail or cost you, but maybe it’s nothing. Maybe all he needs is for you to treat him like an equal, or maybe he just wants to be touched.

You set your cup down on the wide railing, and pull Manley down. The kiss surprises him, yet he fervently welcomes it. Your fingers curl into the breast of his coat while his hands reef through your hair. You can taste apple and coffee aftertaste on his tongue as you warily deepen the kiss.

You break away after a few moments, panting, before Manley tugs you into another kiss. Your mind skims against his thoughts, and you don’t have to read them to know that he wants you. He wants your warmth, your affection, and your touch. Your teeth click against his as thought of dread darts past your mind’s presence.

<What if this is a dream?> You feel him think. <Then by the scribes don’t let this end—please—life is agonizing without this.>

When the kiss ends, you catch him with a worried expression. There is no sudden smile or laugh to chase it away, Manley simply caresses your cheek with his knuckles, his eyes watchful and somber.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You bury your face into his chest. Manley holds you close to him as the sun starts to rise in the sky.

Devils aren’t supposed to be sad and lonely, but yours is.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manley is touch-starved past it on. Also how do you write smells--this is a serious question as I lack any sense of smell.

Manley does not smell like the forest. His scent is sharp, florid, and it is tad overpowering. You realize that it’s perfume of sorts, not his natural musk. You do recall somewhere that Saps bloom flowers when they are particularly happy, and you wonder by chance if he’s blossomed a few. You feel, however, that it is not an appropriate question to ask, seeing that you both are still in public.

He’s not studying you when you peek up at him. Manley is staring out into the lifting fog, his eyes thin slits on his face. It’s odd to see him pensive.  You tuck your face back into his chest, content to be like this a little while longer. You feel the faint heat from his body seep through his shirt, warming your cheek.

Manley’s reedy fingers graze your scalp, before sliding down to rub your back. He seems equally disinterested in relinquishing you. He keeps touching your head and shoulders, almost as if to reassure himself that you are in fact real. You do not feel his mind reach for yours, though you can still sense the undercurrent of dread. It looms like a shadow, and is not easily rooted from its spot.

It’s possible that this is what he’s being contemplative about.

“What troubles you?” You shift so you can watch the fog. Your towering Devil leans over, catching your chin in his thin fingers.

“What troubles me?” He repeats the question, his expression serious and ardent. “My dear Reader, what troubles me is that this might not be real.” Manley’s thumb flushes over your lips, causing you to shiver slightly. “Life has been looking up for me, but yet I wonder if this is all a dream,” He pauses, only so he can kiss you.

It is a few moments before he picks up where he left off. “Sometimes I believe that I’m still trapped in Downside, and all of this is an elaborate trick of the mind.” His tone hardens as does his grip on your shoulders. “You were not in Downside as long as I was—you cannot comprehend what it can do to you.”

You think back on Jodariel and Oralech, how the two of them were twisted into demons due to the influence of Downside. Then of course there was the Voice that tormented you ceaselessly, and you still dream of it from time to time. Manley was in Downside longer than you, you agree to that, but you are well aware of it could do to an individual.

“I used to dream that I had returned home. They were vivid ones, too.” He trails off as he drops his gaze. “…I would wake from them, and oh how crushing it was! To realize that the dream was just that, was dreadfully frustrating.”

You soothe him by touching his cheek. Manley grasps your hand and presses his face into your palm. He closes his eyes. “So yet, I often wonder,” His eyes crack open. “If this is all just a dream.”

“Guess I can’t just tell you it’s not a dream, huh.” Your thumb strokes his smooth cheek.

He laughs sadly, “Oh if only that were the case. It would certainly be easier for the both of us, but I’m afraid there is no simple solution to my problem.”

“…Well, if you say so.” Now you feel bad. It’s not like this is something that you can simply kiss and the pain goes away. “Do you wanna go do something? I still have places to show you, if you’re up for it.”

He smiles and squeezes your hand. “…That would be delightful, Reader.” It’s still there, that twinge of doubt that lurks in the corners of Manley’s mind. You don’t need to read his thoughts to know it’s there.

You hold his hand, which feels more reassuring than linking arms. Manley is trying to perk up, but the idea of this all being an elaborate dream haunts him. By the time you leave the bridge, the sun is a good bit up in the sky. It’s far from noon, but the hazy feeling of early morning is long behind you.

You and Manley are both quite familiar with the city, though you both are versed in different aspects of it. This means there are still parts of it that Manley doesn’t know, which means you can surprise him with new places. You take him to the streets around your home, and you walk slowly to allow him to window shop.

It is charming to see him so intrigued by places that are relatively mundane to you. He has many questions for you, and you can answer most of them.  He appears considerably happier, though you don’t know how much of it is a façade.

“Manley, if you want to go into a store, just pull me along.” You say this when he lingers a bit in front of particular window display. This one sells soaps and other related goods. “I will warn you that it’s not wise to stay in this store for too long, it’ll give you a headache.”

“Noted, noted.” He’s already tugging you inside, and you are immediately hit with a bombardment of smells. It is a quiet shop, but the presence of so many scents is deafening to you. Manley seems unfazed and lets go of your hand to sample a few. You hover by his shoulder as he sniffs a few soaps.

His face curdles, “Reader, this soap is simply abhorrent! Who would like such a smell?” He offers it to you to smell, and against better judgement, you smell it. You actually don’t it’s all that bad of a scent, though you will admit that it is a little overpowering. You don’t get a chance to comment before Manley has moved onto another soap.

Manley’s reaction to different aromas is a joy to behold. You didn’t realize Saps could contort their faces in such dramatic ways, hell, you didn’t know that half the expressions Manley has made are even possible. You snicker a little, watching him from the corner of your eye as you try a few soaps yourself. You need one for your clothes drawer, for the one you have currently is starting to fade.

You are debating between getting one that smells like pine or a vanilla scented soap, when you see Manley looking utterly horrified.

“What’s wrong?” You think, at first, he’s being purposely stricken to illicit response, until you see that he’s shaking. Now you have experienced awful smells, but this doesn’t fall in line with usual awful scent reactions. You pry the soap from his hands and take a whiff. Upon smelling it, you instantly recall your Rites in the Glade of Lu. It’s pungent and disgustingly floral, so sweet that it feels sharp in your nose.

Manley’s eyes are shining like he’s about to cry, and you’re pulling him out of the shop. You want to comfort him, but it’s crowded and you don’t know how sensitive he is in this moment. It’ll have to wait until you can reach a private setting, and thankfully your apartment isn’t too far off.

Of course, by the time you’ve reached your home, Manley is dismissing his reaction.

“Reader, you must understand that my senses were offended, not I!” He says this lightly, as if whatever happened to him wasn’t traumatizing. “I am allowed to reminisce a little on my days in the Chastity, surely you of all people understand.”

You know better as you let him in. The moment the door is closed, you hold him. He laughs it off for a few moments, insisting that you are far too doting for your own good. But that carefree attitude fades quickly, and he tenses up, his mind prickling against yours.

You both stand in silence again, just like you did on the bridge this morning.

“You want some tea?” You offer, rubbing his back in small circles.

Manley makes a noise in acknowledgement, and you lead him up the stairs into your apartment. Your home is a little cluttered, though Manley doesn’t seem to mind or notice. He takes a seat at the table while you make tea. You are not surprised that he looks like he belongs here, something that appears to be a common trend with Saps.

He leans back in his chair, taking in the interior of your home. Manley relaxes enough to warrant a subconscious Sap habit of putting down roots. It’s not as noticeable as you think it would be, the only reason you see it is because the rug under the table begins to scrunch up. You see the tips of his roots nose through the rug touching, testing, the heavy fabric. As adorable as it is, you hope he doesn’t destroy the rug. You don’t have the heart to tell him to stop, as he still is fragile at the moment, so you pointedly divert your attention to something else.

Manley has calmed down considerably by the time you set down his cup of tea. You still sense an odd pressure from him, his old fear exerting itself from the depths of his mind. You haven’t really done anything to comfort him, other than make him tea and such, but being in your home seems to have a positive effect on him. You watch him continually study his surroundings, and wonder that if it is stabilizing him. Homes often feel personal, intimate, especially if it is one’s first time visiting one. There are aspects in them that dreams can’t quite seem to get right. You can still recognize that a place is your home in your dream, but it’s the subtle things that dreams can’t truly nail.

“It feels…different from my home.” He murmurs to himself, his gaze catching on the slightly crooked shutters. He is right about that, you apartment and his estate are like night and day. “I’ll have to visit more often, I do love the quaintness of your abode.”

“That’s polite of you to ignore the mess.” You jeer playfully.

His face crinkles with a smile. “Reader dear, it is _your_ mess, and thus I can’t rightfully be annoyed by it.”

A thought of his slips by your mind like a leaf in a stream. < Everything you touch turns to _gold_ , my beloved. Oh, how honored am I to see this side of you. >

 You smile inwardly. It is sweet of him to think so highly of you, despite the fact you are far from whatever he compares you with. You are not divine or heroic, you are yourself, and you are content to be as such. …You will admit that you wish you weren’t so nervous sometimes, though.

You spend the rest of the day in idle company with Manley. At some point, you feel a few of his roots curl around one of your feet. Manley doesn’t seem to know he’s done it, and you are curious to see how long it takes him to realize it. His roots feel rather cool, you do not feel the faint heat that you felt in his trunk in them. They creep between your toes, coiling loosely around them. If your foot twitches or shifts, the roots will adjust themselves accordingly.

You don’t know why, but you feel rather close to him. It is in your nature to feel deeply. You are still wary of him, though not to the same extremes as before. Maybe this is going too fast, maybe this will a flash fire that leaves you in ashes.

You reach over and hold his hand, letting your thumb tease his reedy knuckles. He is still the Devil, you remind yourself. As open as he is with his mind and feelings, there is still the possibility that this is all just a game to him. He has shown you sides of his personality that you didn’t believe existed. Manley has demonstrated that he has depth, something you thought he lacked.

But if this truly is a game, then you are happy to play along. You can enjoy it now and regret it later. That is what tomorrow is for.

Your mind starts fighting with itself. You are angry for trusting him, yet you are pleased that he trusts you. This is Manley, he will say anything to get what he wants. But that is common knowledge, what you are more interested in learning is why you both are attracted to each other.

“Why do you like me?” You ask, laying your head on the table, looking at him from under hooded eyes.

Manley laughs brightly and traces the jagged scar on your face. “What is there not to like, Reader dear?” One of his roots twists lazily around your ankle. “I suppose that is a weak response, mm? You always are hungry for knowledge.”

For a few moments, he is silent as he searches for the right words. You are beginning to doze off when he speaks, “Now, my dearest Reader, you must understand where I’m coming from.”  Manley weaves his fingers into yours again, a gesture that is becoming increasingly common.

“It is difficult for me not to admire your tenacity, especially seeing that it rivals my own. That is what drew me to you like a moth to flame.” His voice deepens, lowering to a purr of velvet and honey. “There is always something _seductive_ about prowess, and while I never enjoyed losing, I must admit that it was thrilling to encounter you in the Rites.” Manley holds your gaze as he kisses your hand. “I was green with envy for the longest time, how I wanted you to read for the Chastity—if only to watch you rattle the stars each and every Rite.”

You are speechless, and he grins at this before continuing. “I desired you for that until I realized that was simply the _surface_ , and I would be a fool to not plunge into your purifying fire.” His roots now encircle your leg and actually pull you closer to him, causing your knees to bump into his. Manley’s scent hits you again, stronger than before, and you realize that it is in fact his natural scent.

“I have courted, and been courted, by many, but none are as utterly bewitching as you, dear Reader.” He chuckles throatily, “Like comparing tea candles to a blazing star.”

His words are to the point, but his mind is a jumble of thoughts. It twists with the threads of several emotions, words, expressions—too many for him to properly articulate. You applaud him for his ability to say some rather lovely things while his mind is being an utter clusterfuck. What he wants from you aligns with his thoughts on the bridge. Manley wants substance. Your mind skims against his, and you feel the general desire of wanting something more than frivolous romance.  Being with him has made him crave it—crave you—like the parched earth craves for heavy rain.

You realize that what pulls you to him. No one has ever desired you so openly or with such passion as Manley. You didn’t know how you badly you wanted this until he suggested it.  

“…Reader?” Manley breaks you from your thoughts.

You smile at him attentively. “Mm?”

“Ah, it is nothing,” He kisses your brow sweetly. “I enjoy saying your name, that is all.”

You are going to send your heart in a handbasket to hell and address it to Manley.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings, 
> 
> here's a little forewarning that we are getting into...naughty territory with this fic. Keep that in mind, mkay?

“You know I am surprised that in all the months Manely has courted you, he hasn’t sent you a naughty letter.” Pamitha muses loudly. She has to be a little loud in the morning, as you are still waking up, and thus are prone to not hearing things. She must have been fermenting this question for quite a bit, seeing how eagerly she says it when you enter the kitchen.

“I think he would be too embarrassed to put it on paper.” You rub your face and regret doing so. It feels oily and slick—you were rather hot last night. “He has said naughty things to me, but that is because it is easy for him.” People can say what they want and change their minds about it later, but words on paper are different. The spoken word is intangible, you cannot hold it or store somewhere. Unless they are recorded exactly, time can alter them, either by faulty memory or sly manipulation.  When words are placed onto paper, they become palpable.  It becomes harder to change them, and the risk for altering them becomes far greater. You might as well forgo the inkwell and use your own blood, since contracts and other such things are so binding.

And you suppose this is no different than composing a letter. If Manley were to write something provocative, he would have to accept whatever the outcome that arises from it. Saying something silken and seductive is an easy road to take. He could deny that he ever said such things, and where would be your proof?  It’s not like you can take out your mind and extract the memory of it. Even if you could, how correct would it be? Each person perceives the world differently, so how true would your mind be in the end?

“…That is how he works, Pamitha—you’re both diplomats, you should know this.” You hunch over the sink and splash water onto your grimy skin. Much better.

“I know all of this,” She retorts in a slightly childish tone. “But I still thought he would have.”

“And why do you say that?”

Pamitha looks at you like you’ve asked a rhetorical question. “Because he is very taken by you, darling. He gives Oralech a run for his money when it comes to mooning over his beloved partner.”

“He doesn’t moon _that_ much.”  You’ve never thought of Oralech as someone who would do that sort of thing. You certainly never seen that side of him, and you would be content to never see it either. That is his and Volfred’s business, not yours.

Pamitha cackles like a banshee at this. “’ _Doesn’t moon that much_?’Oh, that is _quaint_ , darling.”

“You’re good at reading people, and I’m just good at…reading.”

She laughs again, “—Hoo, but I am rambling. My point is that Manley is twisted around your little finger.” Pamitha smiles wryly at you. “I mention the naughty letter, because love makes people do foolish, foolish things.”

She is right about that, though you know Manley enough that he wouldn’t do such a thing. Your odd dance with the Devil has been a rather surprising one. You have become fond of him, against your better judgement. You have many reasons why you shouldn’t, but then again, you have many reasons why you should. It’s confusing, conflicting, but there is one thing that you have learned, it is that Manley wants you nowhere near his family.

 Aside from the two parties you attended, Manley does not invite you to any event held at his house. You notice that he often comes to you for dates and moments alone. Whenever you mention his home or his family, there is a burning thread of animosity that streaks through his mind. Sometimes when you two embrace, your mouths molding against one another, you feel him worry.

<…And how long can I keep this hidden? How long can this be mine?>

When you sense these thoughts, you pull him closer, your kisses becoming increasingly heated as you try to make him forget. This worked in the past, but now his thoughts are harder to shake off. You think your mind is in turmoil over courting him, it is nothing compared to his. You recall one night when you were alone with him, and his thoughts were particularly bad.

You’re breathless, your skin is too hot and taut to be comfortable. Manley’s kisses are searing, shattering any mental willpower you have. His knee rides up between your thighs, sending you irregular spikes of pleasure. He wants you, his body and soul pulling for yours desperately. You feel his soul trying to link with yours, like how a mind tries to hook for an inescapable word. In its attempts, his thoughts crash into you, all of them at once. There is so much fear, so much anger, knotted in his mind. Yet, he pushes his desire for you, for this, against those thoughts. It is like he is trying to overwhelm those thoughts with his want of you, and you unfortunately get snagged in the crosshairs. When his mind spills into yours, you cry out. It is like being thrust into the light after being in the dark for so long. You are forced to gaze into the blinding sun, no matter how much it hurts your eyes.

You snap him away from his thoughts, and he immediately consoles you. But his words and touches feel like they are beyond the moon. You lean against him dumbly, your body and mind horribly numb and tingly. You don’t realize how bad you are shaking until you hear your trembling in your ears.

Since that night, Manley seems to avoid initiating such passionate intimacy with you. He thinks that he pushed you too fast in attempts to drown out his intrusive thoughts. He’s never told you this, but you know.

As usual, you cannot discuss such things with him. You cannot ask or comfort him, for they are his private thoughts. He has done well masking whatever problems he has, and inquiring about them would only raise questions. It’s not like you can help this ability of yours.

But as a result of this, you know for certain that his affections are true. You tend not to muse on this for too long, unless you wish to incur your mind’s infighting.

 It worries him that he hurt you; you sense that whenever there is a pause in your moments together. Sometimes he thinks he has pushed you away, hurting whatever fragile chance he has with you. Then of course there is the looming shadow of his family, how will what he has with you be changed by that? You do not need to hear his thoughts to know that this troubles him. You see it plainly, in either tired sighs or the bitter, distant looks he makes. He gently brushes aside your concerns, merely stating it is something or other to do with work. His mind whispers a different reason, as it always does. He does not want to burden you with such fears and pain. As thoughtful as that it, you feel it fester inside of him. It is unhealthy, and you assume it is a result of his upbringing.

So perhaps you aren’t too surprised when you get a letter from him today, and quickly learn it is not from him at all. It is from his family, and you are both relieved and frightened at its appearance. There is always that part of you that jumps to accuse Manley, but you dismiss that easily. After all that you’ve experienced with him, you know that this isn’t his doing.

Pamitha watches you with keen interest as you examine the letter. It lacks the seal of the Chastity, which Manley has told you it is something he is oddly fond of, and it instead possesses the crest of House Tinderstauf. You pick it off, ruining the elaborate design of filigree branches and flowers, and shake out the letter. At this point, Pamitha’s chin rests on your shoulder. You both read the letter, which is rather long, in silence. Pamitha makes a few breathy noises of disgust, and unhooks her chin from your shoulder.

“This is a ploy, you know.” She hisses. “A stunt for them to garner more favor.”

She is right about that. The letter is an invite to a party, a party usually exclusive to those of the wealthy Sap community. You know that if you deny going, it will cause a host of problems. If you do go, then you will have publicly acquainted yourself with the Tinderstauf family and all their supporters. Your private meetings with Manley are one thing, but this is another.  You wonder how Manley feels about this, if he knows at all.

“What should I do?”

She scrutinizes the letter, her gaze harsh. “I say you should go.”

That…was not the answer you were expecting. Your brow wrinkles, “Are you sure about that?”

“Publicly associating yourself with them is…risky, if not inadvisable. But not going to a party hosted by this crowd…I wouldn’t risk it.” She shakes her head. “You know they are going to announce of your relationship with Manley, especially if it’s something they’ve recently learned.” Pamitha makes a soft sound of approval. “That Manley is better at hiding things than I give him credit. His family is a nosey grove.”

“So, you think he didn’t tell them?” That is kind of her to take his side.

Pamitha merely shrugs, “I’ve seen how he is around you, and Manley is the sort that doesn’t—well—like to share.”

“Yeah. _Yeah_.” You place the letter on the counter, and peel any leftover wax from the seal from under your nails.

“For now, I think you wait until you get Manley’s response. I would say inquire by letter, but those fools might intercept it.”

And so you heed her advice and wait. It is well into the day when Manley visits your house. For once, he does not try to hide his tumultuous feelings. He’s scowling when you get the door, and his expression softens slightly upon seeing you.

“I assume you have received their invitation?” His voice drips with poison. “How _kind_ of them to invite you to our little soiree.” 

You take his hands, and this seems to soothe him. The last time you have seen him this livid was when you soundly beat him in the Rites, except then you only saw snatches of his fury. This time, he lays it out for you to see.

“How dare _they_.” His lip curls back into a sneer. “How dare they infringe upon what is _mine_. What we have, Reader, is ours and ours alone.” His yellowed teeth cinch tightly together. “This—this was not my doing.”

You lay your palm against his cheek, “I know.” He smells different, undoubtedly a result of his immense displeasure and stress at the situation. His scent is spicy to the point of vileness. It’s too strong, smudging your vision with tears. You don’t have a chance to steel yourself, for Manley stoops down and embraces you. His potent aroma practically chokes you, and you cough dryly into his chest. Manley doesn’t seem to realize how utterly overpowering his scent is to you, and proceeds to hold you for quite some time.

“Manley, I can’t breathe.”

He laughs brightly, “Ah, my most sincere apologies!” Manley pulls away from you, and you resist the urge to cough. You offer to make him some tea, for both his sake and yours, and he accepts graciously.

Pamitha is making something for lunch when you come in. Her nose wrinkles at the scent that seeps from your clothes.

“Manley.” You mutter, and she seems to understand.

“Saps have such odd biology.” Pamitha remarks as she slips out of the kitchen, most likely to open a few windows. As soon as she is gone, Manley joins you. He’s relaxed some since being at your apartment, though it will be a while before his stench fully dissipates.

It is quiet between you and Manley. He wanders around your kitchen, inspecting various things of interest. You’re just about to pour the tea, when he slides his hands onto the slope of your waist. His fingers slightly push up under the fabric of your shirt and trace little circles into your skin. Your breath catches and you nearly spill the tea all over your hand.

His scent washes over you again, and you gag a little. “Manley,” You sputter out. “Can you—uh—not right now?”

He hums before placing a kiss on the nape of your neck. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin as his hands pull away from you. You are not all that surprised by how handsy he is, especially after receiving that letter. Not that you mind it, though you feel a little bad that you aren’t more receptive.

You feel his want for touching you. There are wisps of longing that hiss in your ear. He thinks his body feels wrong. It’s hot and brittle, and no amount of water can soothe him. He’s parched for you, he—

You turn around and yank him down for a kiss. You don’t dare breathe, because you’ll have a coughing fit otherwise. His thoughts jumble as he hastily deepens the kiss, practically pushing you up on the counter. You need to breathe, you never could hold your breath for very long. You expect Manley to break away from you now, and he does, but only to crush your mouths together. It’s desperate—he’s desperate—and you are also desperate for air.

Fuck, this was such a bad idea.

His hold on you breaks when his fingers settle dangerously close to your inner thigh, and the spark of pleasure causes you to jerk your head back. You smack your head, hard, on the cabinets. You’re dizzy, from both the impact and Manley’s scent, more so from the latter than the former.

“Reader? Reader, are you alright?” He fusses at you, his hands making fleeting touches at your face and shoulders.

You mumble that you’re fine, but you catch Pamitha standing in the entryway of the kitchen, smirking at you. You are not fine, not anymore. She recedes back into the dining room, giving you and Manley some “private time”, judging by the exaggerated eyebrow waggle she gives you. You hate being her roommate.

You push Manley away and hobble over to the nearest window, so you can breathe in fresh air. Granted the city air smells kinda nasty, but it’s more preferable to Manley’s scent. You take in a few gulps of air, already feeling immensely better while you rub the sore spot on your head. Manley seems to have taken a hint and waits back in the kitchen, awkwardly preparing his tea.

“About the letter,” You begin when you return, “What do you think I should do?” Frankly, you don’t want to talk about this now. He’s fragile and wild, not truly able to make sound judgements at this moment in time.  Manley sighs as he stirs his tea.

“Personally, I don’t want you to go. I had my own ideas for introducing you to my family, and this is the worst way possible.” You hear the subtle notes of contempt in his words. “How they want it—they think I intended to court you for the sole purpose of gaining political power.”

The cup rattles loudly as he sets it down. <And that’s not what I wanted, Reader.>

“…What did you want?”

“Not this.” He mutters after a few moments have passed. “…Something private.”

You chuckle. “That’s a word I never thought I’d hear you say.”

He offers a small, sad smile, before letting his gaze fall upon his cup. Manley idly traces the rim, his mind fogged with great sadness. “…It was either a party or a front page article.” A flash of rage ignites with him and he slams his fist on the counter. “They _spied_ on us, Reader.”

It was a risky gamble from the start—you both knew this. You knew that they would find out some way or another, but as it was your choice to court Manley, it is now your choice on how to handle this. You lean against the kitchen entryway for a few moments.

“So what should I wear?”

Manley laughs like you told him an atrocious joke, the kind that does not deserve laughter. “Surely you can’t be serious? You _want_ to go?” He is utterly mystified at your response. “…Darling, it will be such a tacky party, you shouldn’t have to submit yourself to such _straits_.”

You do not want to go. You like parties, but those of the upper class have always felt stiff to you. That, and their dancing is terribly dull. “Manley, you know me well enough that I would never want to go to such an event. But, I am…fond of you.”

“ _Fond_ of me?” He repeats sweetly. “…Reader, don’t go to this because of me. It will not be a kind party.”

You incline your head, “All the more reason to go. I can’t leave you to fend for yourself—we both know how well that would go.”

He laughs again, though it is hollower this time. You willingly approach him, bracing yourself against his scent. You take his hand and administer several gentle kisses upon it. As you kiss his palm, you notice a change in his smell. He’s blossoming for you, even if you can’t see his flowers.

“…But just because I’m going, doesn’t mean that they’ll win.” You nuzzle his palm. “I won’t let them ruin this for us.”

 

* * *

 

“Bold of you to come to this party.” Old Bridgett remarks as she trots alongside you. “The Young Master wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“I think there is little Manley won’t obsessively talk about.” You tug on the familiar fabric of your raiments. Manley has offered to buy you something for tonight, but you refused. He might be your boyfriend, but your opinions on money and frivolous things haven’t changed.

Bridgett’s laugh is like crinkling paper. “Aye, you truly know him well. Though I must admit, didn’t think you would come to this event.”

“And why is that, old lady?”

The Cur made no efforts to hide her disgust, peeling back her lips to display her jagged teeth and spotted gums. “Because these parties are _tacky_.”

You roll your eyes, “You say that about every party.”

“Well yes, because the dancing is lame and they don’t serve Dominion beer—but this party is especially tasteless.”  She makes another legendary face, one that looks like she has just eaten something questionable and foul. It’s a face you’ve seen Rukey make a few times while you were in the Downside.

“You know it’s going to be bad if you’re blackmailed into going.” She has a point, a good one, too. “Rather take a dump on the old Archjustice statues than have to go to one of these.”

You don’t get a chance to respond, seeing that you and Bridgett enter the lively estate. It would be rude to continue your conversation inside the house of your host, especially with the crass tone Bridgett is fond of using. You don’t blame her for using it. If you had to serve Manley’s family for your entire life, you probably would be a little bitter, too.

Bridgett’s nails click loudly on the polished floors. The old Cur hardens at the sight of the groves of Saps scattered throughout the estate. You do not hear her thoughts, but you feel her immense disdain and distrust.  She practically herds you away from some groups, making a few muted comments about their occupants.

“What are you doing?” You ask after the seventh or so time Bridgett has head-butted you into going a different direction.

“Buying some time for Manley, he knows this lot better than I do. Where is that bloody _child_.”

It is surprising that Manley did not escort you from your house. Bridgett was the one to pick you up, and her responses for Manley’s absence had been…dodgy.

“I at least know which Saps are the most trouble.” She makes you stop in an empty parlor, one that was covered wall-to-wall with oil paintings. Most of them are ugly.

“And those are?”

Bridgett scoffs loudly, “All of them—Saps in this society can’t be trusted.”

“Thanks, that was enlightening.” You retort flatly.

She doesn’t laugh at your sarcasm. If anything, she is more annoyed by it. You are also getting a little irritated by her protective nature. She is acting like you don’t know how to fend for yourself. You chide yourself at this thought as you realize Bridgett is here to help you.

“…It is not like him to not scramble at the chance to be near you.”  Bridgett mumbles to herself. “Wonder if one of the stumps got him—blasted bastards.”  She paces a few moments, grumbling darkly to herself. “…You just wait here, I’ll go look for him.”

She has scampered off before you can respond. You are left alone in the room with the hideous paintings. You feel tense. You try to distract yourself by observing the paintings. They don’t offer you much relief, but it does feel nice to focus your frustration on something.

The longer you look at the paintings, the more realize that they aren’t half bad. Their frames are utterly tacky, seeing that they keep drawing your eyes away from the art work—

You feel a hand settle between your shoulders, but as you look over, it is not Manley who touches you.

“Fine evening, is it not?” The Sap has a low, melodious voice, that sounds somewhat like Manley’s. Though, now you think about it, this Sap does look an awful lot like Manley. It’s their hair that gives it away, for it is vibrantly orange. Their hair easily reaches their middle back, and you wonder how much work goes into maintaining it.

“You must be the Reader, I’ve heard quite a lot about you.” The Sap ambles on, not waiting for your response. “My name is Suliman Tinderstauf, I am, as you humans would phrase it, his ‘mother’.” They smile at you, and you dip your head in response. “It is so nice of you to come to our little party. I have wanted to meet you for quite some time.”

“ You flatter me, Ser.” You try to remain neutral as possible.

It is frightening when you feel something invasive brush against your mind. At an instant, your mind snaps back at the intrusion, and you notice Suliman’s smile widen slightly. Dread pools into your stomach as they offer their arm to you.

“Come along, my dear, we must rejoin the party. You _must_ meet my spouse.”

Begrudgingly, you take their arm, and they gingerly tug you along. You resist the urge to shrink into your raiments as you enter the lively heart of the party.

 _You are here out of spite, remember that._ You remind yourself as you proudly lift your chin. You are not to be intimated by them. You are made of sterner stuff.

Suliman begins introducing you to other Saps, and you remain indifferent to each one. Their smile twitches when you refuse to contribute to conversations. You merely nod your head in greetings, but make it clear to the other guests you do not wish to speak. Some of them attempt to converse with you, and you nip the buds for any fledgling conversation. You do it politely, though.

You do feel something pry into your thoughts on numerous occasions, but you manage to shake them off before they can get through. At one point, you do give Suliman a brief glare, to which they respond with feigned confusion.

They would lose nothing if you attempted to call them out on their behavior. It’s not like anyone would believe that Suliman has been trying to slip into your mind. You are getting tired from resisting their mental onslaughts, and you wonder how much more you can take of it.

It troubles you that you don’t know what they want. You do recall that Volfred did do something with Manley’s memory in Downside, and you get the horrible idea that is what Suliman intends to do. Some part of you is relieved that you’ve avoided politics up ‘til now, so it’s not like there is anything worth stealing.

Suliman offers you a drink at some point, and you immediately refuse.

“Oh, surely you must be thirsty!” They persist.

“I assure you, I am fine.” You say a bit more tartly then intended, which visibly irritates Suliman. There is a flash of wild fury on their beautiful face, the same look you saw on Manley many moons ago in Downside. Again, you are reminded how much ‘mother’ and son are in likeness, yet you also note how starkly different they are. For starters, Manley takes ‘no’ for an answer.

Your mind prickles as Suliman’s thoughts suddenly reveal themselves. They twist and writhe upon each other like a pit of vipers. You detach yourself from them at this point; your old instincts for flight are beginning to surface.

Before either you or Suliman do anything rash, a hand rests on the small of your back.

“—There you are, darling, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” You recognize that bassy tone from anywhere. To your surprise, Manley stoops down to kiss your neck.

< Mine, this is mine, and mine alone.> His thoughts slide past yours like velvet and silk.

By now, Suliman’s mind of vipers has disappeared, replaced with a blank normalcy that is unnerving.

“So good of you to keep Reader company, Atta,” Manley beams. “I was worried they were just going to sit by the punch bowl all evening.”

They laugh so brightly at this it doesn’t seem fake. “Is that so? Well they certainly aren’t thirsty tonight, perhaps our good Reader is disappointed with the particular flavor tonight, mm?”

You chuckle nervously at their jab, eager to not to be the center of their intense attention. Manley’s hand sliding down the curve of your waist is somewhat alleviating, and you instinctively lean into him. His touch is comforting, if not a strength you can draw from.

Manley is keen to your tension with Suliman and corners them with conversation. You are impressed with how long he can hold their attention. There is a dance to their exchange, one that loops and weaves varying topics with seamless effort.

He is truthful to Suliman, as truthful as Manley can be to anyone. His parent watches him with eyes that glitter with both pride and disdain. They are impressed as you are, though theirs stems from a familial pride. You assume that it is familial, though you could be wrong.  Suliman is more of an enigma than Manley, which is saying something.

The longer Manley keeps Suliman locked in conversation, the more annoyed they appear to be. If you have noticed it, then so has Manley. He seems to take it in stride, something he is used to, you think.

“…Remember, _Manley_ , it is that carless attitude of yours that got you into Downside.” They hum over their drink. “It would be a shame if you didn’t learn from your mistakes, my dear son.”

Manley’s grip on you tightens as he chuckles lightly. “I am a changed Sap, Atta, you need not worry about the past repeating itself.”

Suliman pointedly looks at you. “Oh, but I’m afraid it’s already happening again. What a _shame_ , Manley, I thought you would be smarter.”

He trembles a little, and you cut in, “Ser, would you mind if I had a few moments with your son? I haven’t seen him in quite a bit.”

Your mind curls back like a cobra to strike the moment their attention falls to you. They are surprised, both by your mind’s stance as well as your interruption.

<Don’t underestimate me.> You fling the thought at them. You don’t know if they hear it, but Suliman does leave your presence with the excuse of tending to their other guests.

You and Manley make your way back to the room you were in earlier.  You waste no time expressing your distaste for the party, but Manley is unresponsive.

“…Manley?” You cradle his jaw in your hands. “Manley, what’s wrong.”  You panic for a moment, thinking Suliman messed with his mind, until he nestles into your hands.

“…I’m alright, Reader, truly.” He slips his arms around you, his willowy frame molding against your body. “I should be the one inquiring your state of things, seeing that you were with Atta for who knows how long.”

Your face is buried in the crook of his neck. He smells sweet and soft, and you kiss his coarse neck.

“… _Reader_.” He sounds faint like a thought from a dream.  Being alone with him like this feels like a dream. Wordlessly, you kiss him. He doesn’t pull you closer as you kiss him. He doesn’t greedily deepen the kiss, or touch and tease you, he simply looms over you, quiet and unfeeling.

“We should leave, Manley.” You push his bangs out of his face, knowing full well that they’ll fall back onto his brow. He takes your hand and presses his mouth to your palm. For several moments, he does nothing. His lips are warm and dry against your skin.

“They will bury us with words.” He murmurs, removing your hand. “A rumor or accusation is just about as dangerous as a blade, Reader. You may not think so, but I have played this brutal game for quite some time.”

Sometimes you forget that Manley is a great deal older than you, but not in this moment. “They will ruin us, and I can’t bear that thought.”

You kiss his eyelids, letting your hands rest on the slope of his neck. “Heh, I think they’ll do that regardless.”

“Do not make light of this, Reader.” He cracks open one eye. “They will make us look like villains if we don’t play this right.”

“So leaving is out of the question?”

Manley hums in acknowledgement, stroking your cheek with his knotted knuckles. “If you desire to leave, I can arrange it for you, but I must remain.”

After your time with Suliman, the idea of leaving Manley alone doesn’t sit well with you. In fairness, that wouldn’t be much you could do for him if you stayed, but at least he wouldn’t face whatever they throw at Manley by himself.

“I’ll stay.” Your words are hushed and affectionate. In an instant, his mouth is upon yours, and he kisses you ardently. His hands grab and pull at you as if you’ll disappear. You reciprocate, pressing yourself against him, reminding him that you aren’t a wisp of a dream.

The moment the kiss ends, his breath teases your ear. He says your name, your _true_ name, with such heat and want, that you shiver in response.  He murmurs it again and again, against your skin between numbing kisses, like a mantra.

And for a time, you forget where you are. You forget you are in his estate, the home of your lover and your enemy. You forget you’re at a party that is devised solely for your ruin. More importantly, you forget yourself.

For a fleeting moment, you and Manley feel like you are one entity. You both become extensions of the other, bodies, minds, and souls moving in perfect harmony. You would realize later that this is a result of yours and Manley’s minds meshing together. But right now, you and your Devil are in a state of euphoria. You feel what he feels, as if it is your own hands touching your raiments. In turn, he hears your thoughts as if they were his own.

You don’t remain like this long, and when your minds part, you return to reality changed. The world feels strange, cold and disjointed, like waking up from a pleasant dream. Manley, who has been leaning against you, emerges from the experience unbalanced, and sways awkwardly.

“You should wear your raiments.” The phrase slips from you, unprompted by thought or reason.

Manley rubs his temple, “I never thought you would want to match.” He teases. “I didn’t think you would be that sort.”

“I’m not,” You respond mirthfully. “But I’ll make an exception this time.”

“If I am to change, I will need your help. I don’t think I can make it up the stairs without some assistance. Blasted room keeps spinning.”

You offer your arm to Manley, and he gladly takes it. As you both stagger up the stairs, you catch old Bridgett descending.

“ And what are you two up to?” The Cur smirks. “Trouble, I assume.”

“Right as always.” Manley shrugs, “Do be a dear and tell Atta that we will be right back.”

Whatever conclusion Bridgett makes, it brings a wicked grin on her face. Her dark eyes twinkle with mischief as she continues her lopping descent down the stairs. Faintly, you hear her cackle to herself.

Manley lets out a breathy laugh when you reach the top of the stairs. As he leads you to his room, you catch him muttering, something along the lines of, “ _That old lady_.”   

His quarters remind you of a doll house. Lavish to the point of wild extremes, and you wonder if this is his or parents’ doing. He’s more stable by the time you enter the room, and thus has parted from your arm in search of his raiments. Manley leaves you to explore his room, half of which is covered in heavy tapestries, while the remaining portion is a combination of mirrors and dark wood.

 You wander around, letting your hands glide across the old furniture. You are amazed at how tidy Manley’s space is. You always figured him to be a little careless with his things, and are surprised that he is more organized than anyone you know.

Your eyes catch the familiar color of enlightened raiments as Manley emerges from his closet. He holds the folded garments in his hands as if he were holding something intimately precious. That is true, seeing that they are what brought him to freedom.

He doesn’t look at you as you approach him, his attention solely focused on his raiments. You touch his hand, and he sighs contently.

“…I’ve always wanted to wear these with you.” His eyes flick up to meet your gaze.

Wordlessly, you help him change. You push the coat of his suit off his shoulders, letting it slide off of his frame and crumple to the floor. For once, he doesn’t care or protest. His eyes never waver from you as you slowly strip him down.  You hear him chuckle when you unbutton his shirt, for you kiss the skin that reveals itself for each button you unfasten. Now it is your turn to stare, as you have never seen his bare chest before.

He lacks the bony curves of a ribcage, but what he does possess is far more captivating. His waist is smooth, slightly rounded like the trunk of a tree. Manely’s frame starts to broaden near where the bottom of his ribcage(if he had one) begins. From there, you realize that Manley’s chest is canopy of sorts. His chest is composed of smooth cords of wood that branch out toward the nearest shoulder. They grow along his body, rarely deviating away from it. You notice that there is a slight gap between his collarbone and the branches on his chest, almost making it look like he is wearing a thin piece of armor over his body. You surmise that this is the Sap equivalent of ribs.

Your fingers trace the divots in his wood, and Manley rumbles pleasantly.

“Darling, if you keep touching me like this, you’re going to make me _naughty_.”

You yank your hand away, but Manley quickly catches it. His reedy fingers curl around your hand, pulling it close to his chest as he peers into your face. “…Mm, I would like to be… _nasty_ with you, Reader~” Before you can say anything, he drops your hand and jerks his face away. “But not right now. No, if I am to truly enjoy our little union, I would like to do it somewhere that isn’t my estate.”

You snicker, rolling your eyes while you fetch his raiments.

“Mm, though it does please me that you…like what you see.”  He croons, to which you short in response.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Ah, ah, you don’t need words to convey your desire.”  Manley pulls on his raiments, and you circle him, adjusting what you see fit.  “…We are going to make them _envious_ of our pairing, mm? Oh, to see the looks on their faces when they see us match.” You watch him pointedly lick his lips before smiling at you. “It will be _delicious_ , my dearest one.”

You watch him stride over to a nearby mirror, slightly tuning out his remarks on the party downstairs. You are more interested in how the raiments settle upon him over anything else. Manley looks striking, more so than in anything else you’ve seen him wear. He always carries himself with a great deal of pride, yet after donning his raiments, there is more confidence than arrogance. It is obvious that Manley is satisfied with his appearance, nodding his head with approval no matter which way he turns.

“Come, Reader,” His hand, with great flourish, is held out for you. “Let us conquer them all.”

You trot over eagerly and clasp his hand. You and your Devil exchange smiles before he escorts you out of the room.

When you return, the party, once loud and jubilant, falls silent upon seeing you and Manley. You both stand together, garbed in the glowing raiments, shining like the last stars themselves. Alright, you aren’t really shining, but it certainly feels like it.

“My dear _friends_ ,” Manley delicately lifts your hand to the silent groves of Saps. “Tonight is a very special night indeed, for you all are the first to know of my _special_ relationship with the renowned Reader of the Nightwings.”

You incline your head at the trickle of applause. “We didn’t mean to fool you,” You add. “But, I mean, I suppose you all understand how hard it is to share.” Laughter ripples through the crowd, you have struck the right chord with your audience.

“But before either of us can divulge into the _scandalous_ details of our affair, I believe some dancing is in order.” The crowd disperses before you and Manley as you walk out onto the floor. Other couples will join in time, but for now, it is just you and your lover.  The music begins, soft strains of something you don’t know, and Manley leads, as he always does, when you dance together.  

And you realize that you are more than just fond of Manley. It is something that you’ve known for quite some time, but admitting it has been something you’ve been afraid of doing. Thinking about it now, it really pales in comparison to this rather terrifying experience. 

You’ll tell him after this ordeal, provided Suliman doesn’t destroy your mind first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I made this kind of as a joke. Remember when I took it too far, because I sure do.
> 
> A big thanks to Chloe and Ride for reading this nonsense and making sure it was cohesive. Y'all are gems.

**Author's Note:**

> Come holler at me at my writing tumble: https://swoonon.tumblr.com/
> 
> ...And here's the source of my manley/reader nonsense: http://astrodile.tumblr.com/


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